


Don't do it

by VladimirCain



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Depression, Other, Suicidal Thoughts, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:53:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VladimirCain/pseuds/VladimirCain
Summary: Based off of the vocaloid song "My R" but written for an "OC"





	Don't do it

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: SUICIDE

Conversation filled the halls of a hospital/nursing home as a man with short dark brown hair and matching brown eyes made his way towards the supply room. Pushing up his glasses, he sighs. He wished his shift would end, he missed his bed. He also wished no one would be home when he arrived, he wanted to be alone. Pushing the door open he steps in, hoping to grab the required item then quickly get out. However when he entered there stood a child. She had long brown hair that flowed down to her lower back, and wore baggy clothes that hid her skin. In her hand was a bottle of cleaning chemicals that was close to her mouth. 

"Please hand me the bottle. That's dangerous and you could get sick or worse," he informed. 

"I know..." She weakly said. He took in a deep breath and extended his hand. 

"Let's talk," he said. She stared at him, debating. She slowly handed him the bottle and sat down on a box of supplies. 

"In my middle school I'm picked on. I have a few friends but I still don't fit in, not even with my friends. I get called names, shoved into lockers. I even get told I should have never been born. I wish I could just disappear," she explains while kicking her legs. He sits next to her and squeezes her hand.

"That is tough, I won't sugar coat it. However, your friends...you should tell them. Tell them you want to talk and tell them how you feel. They'll listen and try to help. Tell a grown up too, they'll get involved... And if you still need to talk I'll listen and try to give advice, but be warned I suck at this," he says. She gave a low chuckle at his last comment. 

"Thank you," she says after a moment of silence. He nods and they walk out of the room. 

Three days later the man was dragged to Walmart by his sister, so she could get her nails done. Why he had to go, he didn't know. At one point he used the excuse that he needed to use the bathroom to escape. The bathroom was empty which he was thankful for because there was too many people in the shopping center. Empty? He thought wrong. In the back stall, a high school boy sat on the floor. His back was against the wall and in his right hand was a pocket knife, the blade touching his left wrist. Their brown eyes met, and the high school boy's expression twisted into guilt. The man closes the stall door, locking it. He then sits down next to the teen and gently takes the knife

"What's bothering you?" He asked, watching the teen pull his knees to his chest. 

"Well... This might sound pathetic to you. Please don't laugh. I think I have depression but when I brought it up to to my friends and family I was told I was over thinking. I have no reason to be depressed. Everyone expects me to listen to their problems and give advice, but I try to do the same and I get shut down. People get mad at me for even talking about myself. It's come to the point I don't want friends. I don't want to talk."

"Depression isn't so simple to understand. They should take you seriously. You have family that loves you, try again. Sit them down and tell them you need help. If you need to rant I'll lend you my ear. You have someone that cares, I promise." The man tried to reassure. The boy glances up, trying to read the man. Pushing himself off the floor, the boy unlocked the stall and walked out. The man followed, throwing the knife away as he exits the bathroom. 

For eleven months the brunette met multiple people who were close to ending everything. Each time he made them turn away. Helping these people from making a mistake, however did not make him feel good. On December fifth 2016, the man exits a rite aide, with a bag of dog food in hand. He zips up his jacket then pushes his glasses back onto his nose, starting the walk home. Coming to a cross walk he sees a man staring at the cars that zoomed past, a bag tightly gripped in his hand. When a car got closer, the second man moves to step in front of the vehicle. The first man reached out and quickly grabbed the other's shoulder, pulling him back. Turning around, the man met who intervened. Pleading with his eyes, our main character asks to know why. 

"Since middle school it's been the same," the new man began. "Everyone ignores what I have to say when it comes to my depression and dysphoria. It's considered a phase by many. A phase? I wish it would go away. I'm tired of feeling this way. I'm tired of being uncomfortable in my own body. I'm tired of being tired. I can deal with strangers, they could just ignore me. But when it's your friends and family, it hurts. They say they love me and support me but then turn around and say I'm being stupid and I'll always be a woman. I feel trapped in this body, it's like a cage I can't escape from and everyone only sees the outside. So many people look at me in disgust when I tell them I'm a transman and correct them. It's not hard to say Vladimir or he. Everyone I know that claims they love me always says I'm being stupid and they know more than me. It's all in my head. They act like I want to feel this way.... Maybe the kids in middle school were right.. After all I think the same way now, I shouldn't have been born.... It's difficult to breath and I just want to sleep forever."

"Don't do it please," the other man choked back tears. 

A sad smile crosses the second man's face as the chilly wind caressed their cheek. He closes his eyes and walks past his savior. When he opens his eyes he's facing the street, alone. He always was. Hugging himself, he shutters. Looking both ways he sees a car speeding. Finally deciding what to do, he sighs. Once the car was close enough he takes a step off the curb.


End file.
